An Unwilling Helper
by DrEaM-BuT-DoNt-FoRgEt-To-LiVe
Summary: Corin watches with amusement as Aravis engages in some good old-fashioned clothes-burning... because, who doesn’t do that when they have free time?


Corin wondered if he should be worried by the sight before him.

On entering the Lady Aravis's room, the perfectly oblivious prince had been greeted by the sight of black smoke billowing from her balcony. A bright red shawl was blown inside by a powerful gust of wind, perching itself comfortably on Corin's head.

The prince sighed.

"Aravis?" he called. "Do you mind coming in here for a moment please?"

A moment passed. And then Corin heard a sheepish cough, followed by a flustered Aravis stumbling rather ungracefully into the room.

Corin stared at her for a moment- and then spun around, his cheeks flaming and his ears a matching shade of beetroot.

"Put some clothes on!" he yelled, his eyes clamped shut despite the fact that his back was facing Aravis.

Aravis rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Oh please, Corin," she replied, crossing her arms over her nightdress-clad body. "In Calormen, the streets are infested with belly dancers and street performers who are far more scantily dressed. As for the nobility... well, let's just say, from the way some of them dress, it's pretty evident that they're not exactly _paragons of virtue_."

"Well this is Archenland! Folks here are a tad more... modest!"

Aravis's nostrils flared in anger. "What are you trying to imply."

"Nothing!" Corin replied immediately. "I just meant... you... and the clothes... or lack thereof... inappropriate..."

Aravis interrupted his growingly incoherent babbling.

"Oh will you turn around you ridiculous boy!" she snapped. "I'm _almost_ certain you aren't going to take advantage of me so will you stop acting like such a.... such a... _prince_!"

Corin gritted his teeth and turned around, his eyes darting restlessly around the room; everywhere except at Aravis's current state of undress.

"What are you doing anyway," he said, his eyes watering from the smoke overtaking Aravis's room. "Building a bonfire?"

Aravis grinned. "Not quite. I'm burning my clothes."

There was a pause.

"Pardon?"

"My clothes," Aravis repeated. "The hideous garments that I was wearing when I arrived in Archenland- I'm burning them."

"Er... and are you going to tell me why?"

Aravis rolled her eyes again. "I've owned enough cleavage-bearing dresses to last me a lifetime Corin... I think it's time for a change. Calormene clothing does tend to be rather monotonous to wear on a daily basis. The garish colours and all that coarse material; it's enough to drive a girl insane!"

Corin blushed again at the word 'cleavage'; an extremely flattering shade of lobster red. He once again determinedly looked anywhere except at Aravis's.... chest... area... region... place. Not that she had much to bare in the chest... area... region... place.

Aravis spun around and walked out to the balcony again. A large bucket-like contraption was located at the centre, filled to the brim with firewood and frills. Aravis threw the last of her dress, which she'd hacked to pieces, into the raging flames, and watched with a rather disturbing expression of glee at the burning fabric.

Corin stared at the strange sight.

"Do you er... need any... help?" he stuttered uncertainly.

"No, I think I've gotten rid of everything," Aravis replied, her maniacal eyes still fixed on the fire.

"What are you going to wear now?" I asked her.

Aravis froze.

"I didn't think about that," she gasped.

I stifled a chuckle. "You didn't wonder what you're going to replace your destroyed clothes with? Isn't father giving you some new clothes anyway?"

"He is," Aravis said, "but he told me to hang on to my old clothes and then go to the Royal seamstress and pick up my new ones tonight."

"It's not a big deal," Corin replied, reassuringly. "I'll just ask a maid to collect your clothes for you."

"None of the servants are here!" Aravis cried, frustrated. "They went with your father to the battlefield to help the injured and bring them back to Anvard to be treated."

"_All_ of them?" Corin said.

Aravis rolled those irritating eyes again. "_Listen,_ Corin," she said, holding up a hand to silence him.

Corin listened intently.

"I don't hear anything," he said after a while.

"_Exactly_," Aravis said. "Are you really that oblivious that you haven't realised that the only people currently in Anvard at the moment, are the two of us and Cor!?"

"Well what do you expect me to do about it?" Corin retorted, annoyed.

"It doesn't matter if you see me in my nightclothes- you're my friend and you're a Prince, so you're hardly going to get into trouble. I couldn't care less that you've seen me in only this dress to be quite honest. But people constantly visit the castle from the town. What if I walk out there and one of them passes by and sees me!?"

"_So_?"

"So, go and get my clothes for me!"

"_What_?"

"Just root around in the seamstress's room... I'm sure that my clothes must be lying around somewhere. If they aren't, then just grab anything and bring it back."

"I can't be seen stealing women's clothing!"

"You're not stealing."

"Why can't you just wait in here until they return!?"

"They could be gone for hours- I couldn't possibly sit in this room for that long."

"Well that's your own fault!"

"_Please _Corin?"

"No!" Corin said immediately. "Absolutely not! And you can't make me!"

****

_The things I do for Aravis._

Corin peered into the Royal Seamstress's room, ensuring that the coast was clear. He then hurried inside, searching the work benches for anything that looked like it would fit Aravis.

Aravis's clothes were not on any of the benches so Corin, with a heavy sigh, started looking for alternatives.

He picked up a long, half-finished red skirt, its hem unravelling slowly; a yellow bodice made of a coarse material, and a large piece of brown fabric that Aravis could fashion into some sort of shawl or scarf.

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat behind Corin.

Corin froze, and then turned around slowly.

The Royal Seamstress, Hana, a beaver with large, wise eyes, and a small body covered with fine brown fur, looked at the Prince, concerned and slightly disturbed.

"Is there...erm... a reason that you're stealing women's clothing Prince Corin."

"I thought you were with Father," Corin blurted.

Hana's brow furrowed. "I returned to get some fabric which we can use as dressing."

"This isn't what it looks like," Corin said hurriedly, his cheeks red.

"It's not my business to pry," Hana replied, picking up a roll of white cotton from behind the door, her eyes lowered.

"No, Hana, you don't understand-" Corin said earnestly.

But Hana had already hurried out of the room in embarrassment.

Corin let out a cry of frustration and then hurried upstairs to Aravis's room. He knocked urgently on her door, glancing around to make sure that no one saw him with the offending items of clothing in his arms.

Aravis stuck her head out of the door. She looked at his arms, grabbed the clothes, and then retreated back into her bedroom, slamming the door firmly in Corin's face.

Corin sighed, and rested his head on her door. Within an hour, he'd seen a tarkheena naked, witnessed his first clothes-burning, and managed to convince the Royal Seamstress that he was a cross-dresser.

Just _great_.

**A/N: So this is a companion piece to my fic, Sacrifice, which I _obviously_ recommend you read if you haven't already :D This storyline came into my head after writing something in the prologue of Sacrifice, and hopefully it will tide any readers over until I publish chapter 4 :-) Please review and let me know what you think, and if I should carry on writing one-shots every now and again just to support the plot of my other fic. Toodles!**


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